


promise me you'll stay (beyond the sunrise)

by littleaudity



Category: Dust and Raindrops, Original Work
Genre: Other, i wrote this for an earth science project, literally about dust and a water droplet, original but hear me out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleaudity/pseuds/littleaudity
Summary: A story about dust and a water droplet. I came up with the idea during my earth science class and then turned this in as a project. Hope you enjoy!





	promise me you'll stay (beyond the sunrise)

The air is a kind companion. Sure, it jostles and picks up whatever it feels like, but it’s always there, and I’m grateful for it.

When it skirted over Italy to gain the country’s scent again, it picked me up off the street to travel with it. And I am content to float high in the sky in the small cloud I call home now.

The sun is just as powerful as the wind. It pulls water up from the earth, mixing it into the air. And this is how I came into contact with an enigma of vapor. He introduces himself, and we learn about each other, moving higher in the air and growing closer the whole while.

The sun sets over the world. I expect him to leave me for the night. But he stays, says it’s not fair that he can leave and I can’t. And, somehow, it never occurs to me to fight harder to have him leave.

 

When the sun rises again, he is full of energy. He seems to retain the life the sun loves to give. While I absorb the power and am filled with warmth, he seems to expand and grow as the day goes on. Soon he gets so wide and spread out I assume he can’t hold on. But he stays, says I am his anchor. And somehow, when he says it, I don’t feel an urge to deny the statement.

 

Sometimes the air gets a little too much coffee when we flow through crowded streets filled with shops. It whips and winds all over the land, making us glide through the air like torpedoes. I’m worried that the speed will separate us, and I’m surprised by how sad I feel at the thought. But he stays, remains attached to me, wrapping around me like a warm, all-encompassing blanket. And, somehow, in the powerful wind, I feel as calm as the sunrise.

 

Time goes on, and so do we, and more droplets and dust join us in the wind. He is almost overjoyed at the prospect of there being more, and I reflect his enthusiasm in a subdued tone. The voice in the back of my mind says once there are more, he will leave me. But when they join us and we become a part of something bigger than ourselves, he stays and guides me around to meet all the newcomers. And, at the end of the day, in a sea of dust and vapor, he curls around me again, and we are perfectly alone together.

 

The more droplets enter the cloud, the more crowded we become at the edge. It’s time for us to move, I say, and he suggests that we dance there. He’s eccentric, to say the least, but I find it hard to say no directly. I don’t know how, I say. That’s okay, he says, I can lead just find. He skirts and glides and skitters around me. I’ll stay, he says, I’ll stay, I’ll stay. It feels like a promise and it sounds like a song. And as night turns to day, spins become glides become turns become sways. He curls around me at sunrise, and, though neither of us say anything, I can feel the sense of "home" through his skin.

 

I’ve lost track of the sunrises I’ve seen with him around me. I have yet to see Italy again, but I don’t really mind. His vivacity keeps me awake, and I keep him grounded here. It’s a good system, in all honesty. The group around us gives us all weight and importance. But the air around us grows colder, and one day, we may leave, all that remains is a skeleton of what we once were, and we may not be able to stay together in the aftermath. I’m afraid. I tell him this. But he stays and comforts me, promises we will stick together. And, unsurprisingly, I want to believe him.

 

Want is the appropriate word. It seems to describe reaching for something with a desperation I can’t quite fathom into words.  
And that’s how I feel as we fall.

 

The accumulation of all of us, the cloud we belong to, has become too heavy for the air to carry. The other droplets and particles all fall to the ground, giving their energy and life to the earth.

I can feel him around me, holding tight to the anchor he has called his own.

He wants to stay, and I want him to.

It’s an impossible request.

 

We hit.

 

Those who travelled with us are scattered in endless directions, ripped apart by gravity and force and power.

He’s gone. He has to be.

 

He stays.

The rain continues, thousands-millions- of others moving in the puddle that feels like an ocean.

I can feel myself sinking. I am an anchor, after all.

 

He stays.

The rain subsides. It’s over. Through the hundreds of other rain drops, I can see the exhale of night and the first gasp of dawn.

 

If I could cling closer to him, I would.

 

The stars begin to twinkle out into a lighter sky.

One more hour.

He curls around me, like he did in the sky.

Thirty more minutes.

I remember the peace I felt, with him next to me and the sun reflecting on us, early in our time together, when the cloud was light and new.

Five more minutes.

I remember the soft colors of morning and how he would create a stained glass art piece in his skin in iridescence. And I remember that it was then that I realized I loved him.

One more minute.

I remember that, in everything, all of these are my own to keep, that no one else holds the precious thing that I have.

Five more seconds.

I bring him closer, trying to memorize every way he’s enveloped me before.

 

But then the sun breaks.

Time’s up.

 

The goodbye is slow. It takes a while for the sun to get all the way down to us, but the air here holds much water. He clings, almost like a child, desperate to keep me. I’ll stay, he says, I’ll stay. I want to stay.

And he leaves with a scream.

And I feel dry.

 

I want to cry. Then maybe I could have a little bit of him with me again.

 

Maybe one day the wind will be kind.  
Maybe one day I can travel again in a cloud once more.  
Maybe one day I will see him again at sunrise.  
Maybe.


End file.
